


Dak Zevon's Guide to Fake Dating in Hollywood

by poisonivory



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a seemingly compromising photograph makes James and Camille household names overnight, they decide to run with it. But can they keep their fake relationship strictly professional when James is so darn pretty?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. gonna make a brand new sound like we own this town

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to queenitsy for betaing, handholding, and just generally putting up with my nonsense.

Camille ran down the darkened hallway, looking desperately for a way out. She could hear footsteps behind her, growing closer; hear her own ragged breath echoing in the hall. Blood trickled from the wound at her temple, but she couldn’t spare a second to wipe it from her eyes. She put on an extra burst of speed, turned a corner, and – 

– a dead end. She was trapped. Clenching her hands into fists, she turned to face her pursuer.

“Cut!”

The overhead lights snapped on, and Camille blinked against the sudden glare. “Great job, Camille,” the director said. “I think we’ve got enough takes for today. You look beat. Let’s call it a day.”

Camille shook her head, trying to calm her heart rate as she came out of the character. A PA handed her a bottle of water, which she accepted gratefully, and her makeup artist began dabbing at the fake blood on her forehead before it could drip onto her costume.

“How did it look, Monica?” she asked.

“Perfect!” Monica tossed a few red-soaked cotton swabs into a wastebasket. “Glossy and iron-rich. I wish you were dying in this scene. I could put a little brain in there.”

Camille made a face. “Sorry. I think all the goriest scenes have already been shot.”

Monica sighed. “How can I create my art with such a limited field?”

“Well, maybe they’ll put you on a zombie movie next,” Camille said. “I’m gonna go get changed. See you tomorrow!”

She headed off to her trailer, marveling a little as she went. She’d spent so long pounding the pavement in Hollywood, with bit roles in commercials and direct-to-DVD sequels, that it had started to seem like her big break would never come. But all at once, it seemed, she’d landed a couple of supporting roles in box office smashes, and now here she was starring in her very own horror movie – _psychological thriller_ , as Director Larry liked to say.

Everything was coming up Camille. And if it left her a little too busy for a social life, well, that was the price you paid for dreams coming true.

Her manager Kimiyo was waiting in her trailer, lips tight and practically bouncing in her chair. Camille raised an eyebrow. “You know you don’t have to wait to ask my permission if you need to use the bathroom, right?”

“Guess who got nominated for a Teen Choice Award?” Kimiyo asked.

“The Windmills?” Camille guessed. “Oh, wait. No. No!”

Kimyo nodded.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Camille screamed. “I did? Really? For real really real?”

“Breakout Female,” Kimiyo said, and handed Camille the ballot. Camille scanned it frantically, half-noting the familiar names, until she found her category. Sure enough, there she was, halfway down the list in a lime green font that kind of hurt her eyes. But who cared about fonts, she was a Teen Choice Award nominee!

Now Camille was the one bouncing up and down with excitement. “Oh my God, I have to call my dad! I have to call Jo! I have to…”

“Unh-unh,” Kimiyo said. “Do it in the car. Right now you have to wash that blood off your face and change into this.” She held up a garment bag. “We’ve got a party in 45 minutes, and you need to see and be seen.”

Camille peeked into the garment bag. “Is it short?”

“You won’t be able to bend over.”

“Excellent.” Camille squeezed into the tiny bathroom and turned on the sink. “I’m in the mood to make a few waves.”

* 

“Ohhh yeeeeeah…no, no, no…whoooOOOoooaaa…” James crooned, eyes closed, hands holding the headset firmly over his ears. This was his favorite part of laying down an album – adding the riffs. He tended to get tangled up in lyrics, especially if they contained words more complicated than “baby” and “girl” and “baby girl,” but it was hard to mess up improvised nonsense sounds.

It was a little hard to sing when he was smiling, but he couldn’t help himself. This was it. This was his last day in the studio, and then his album went into post-production, and in just over a month…James Diamond would be releasing his very first solo album.  
He opened his eyes, just to prove to himself that this was all real, that he wasn’t back home in Minnesota singing into his hairbrush like he used to when he was 13. But no, there was all the studio equipment, and there was Gustavo, scowling as usual, and Kendall, grinning at him.

That was weird. Not that Kendall was there. Sure, he’d been the one to break up Big Time Rush when they were nineteen with all his talk of “college” and “learning” and “not getting my underwear stolen by pre-teen girls anymore” and whatnot. But it had been a mostly-amicable breakup: Kendall and Carlos went back to Minnesota for college, Logan stayed in California as a UCLA pre-med, and James was on his way to fame and fortune as the next Justin Timberlake. He hoped.

But Kendall and Gustavo still had their weird “we fight all the time because we’re exactly alike and are super unpleasant to be around when we haven’t seen each other for a while” relationship going on, so every summer for the past three years, Kendall had come back to LA for an internship at Rocque Records. He and Gustavo would scream at each other for three months, and then Gustavo would be in a really good mood all fall. And Kendall usually brought Carlos with him, which made James happy – he saw Logan all the time, but he missed his other two best friends.

So Kendall being there wasn’t weird. What was weird was the expression on his face – a manic grin that made James wonder if Gustavo had started huffing nitrous oxide to improve his temper again and left a canister open or something.

“Baby, baby, pleeeeeeeease,” he sang uncertainly, watching Kendall to make sure he didn’t start twitching.

Then Logan popped up next to Kendall. Again, that was normal – Logan always tried to work through the summer, and Kendall always told him not to, and Logan always tried to resist, and Kendall always wound up winning. But Logan had the same manic grin on his face, and that was even more alarming. Logan wasn’t really a grinner.

Then Carlos popped up next to Logan. Sure enough, he was grinning – but he was also holding a piece of paper up to the glass of the sound booth.

James stepped forward to read it, got snagged on his headset cord, fell, got up, took the headset off, and walked close enough to read the paper Carlos was holding.

Then he screamed.

Like a girl.

“Do you hear that, boys?” Kendall asked, flipping the switch so that he could be heard inside the sound booth. “That’s the scream of a _Teen Choice Award’s Choice Male Hottie Nominee!_ ”

James’ friends poured into the sound booth, thumping James on the back and congratulating him. They were jumping up and down in a big group hug when there was a screech of feedback over the speakers.

“Hey. Hey!” Gustavo yelled into the mike. “I hate to interrupt your little friendship-affirmation-hippie circle here, but do you think maybe we could get back to, oh, I don’t know, _recording?_ ”

“Sorry, no can do,” said a voice from the doorway. They all turned to see Katie standing there with her arms folded, one hand holding a copy of the Teen Choice ballot. “I need to take my client to a party.”

The boys watched with interest. Ever since Katie had graduated from high school at 16 and started as a freshman at UCLA so that she could keep a closer eye on James, Russell, and her other clients, she’d been butting heads with Gustavo. As usual, there was no question of who would win, but it was always fun watching Katie take someone down.

“Excuse me, Little Miss Half-Pint, but ‘your client’ is _trying_ to record an _album_ ,” Gustavo said, glowering at her. “And I don’t appreciate you – ”

“Oh, please. All he’s doing is saying ‘ooh baby ooh’ over and over,” Katie said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey.” Gustavo pointed an indignant finger at her. “‘Ooh baby ooh’ is a cornerstone of pop music.”

“Well, he’s not going to _sell_ any pop music if he doesn’t get his butt to this party and schmooze the press!” she retorted.

“Uh, I’d like to go to the party – “ James said tentatively.

“You keep out of this!” they snapped in unison. James shut up.

Gustavo glared at Katie.

Katie glared at Gustavo.

“Fine!” Gustavo said, throwing his hands up. “But don’t come crying to me when his album is insufficiently ooh-babied.”

“Excellent.” Grinning, Katie turned to James. “Come on, Diamond, get your Face on. It’s time to go break some hearts.”

*

Camille stirred her mangotini with its little paper umbrella and sighed. She wasn’t sulking, really. She was just…tired. Tired, and bored, and…okay, fine, sulking.

But wasn’t she entitled to sulk, at least a little? After all, she’d come to see and be seen. And after over an hour of wandering aimlessly around this repurposed old Hollywood-mansion-turned-party-venue, she’d come to conclusion that there wasn’t anybody there she wanted to see – and much worse, no one who wanted to see _her_.

Oh, sure, she’d gotten some attention when she climbed out of her limo. (She’d been extra careful in her tiny skirt. Some kinds of attention she didn’t need.) Cameras had flashed, voices had shouted her name, she’d posed and smiled and flipped her hair. It had all been very gratifying.

And then Mandy Michaels had shown up with her new Argentinean soccer star boyfriend, and Camille had suddenly turned invisible. Even the two or three event photographers who had been allowed inside the building were ignoring her.

It wasn’t like Camille _resented_ Mandy Michaels, who’d beaten her out for the role of Jenny Bond in _James Bond: Deadbeat Dad_ , even though Camille had been in the business longer. And worked harder. And was a better actress.

And it wasn’t like she was worried or anything, just because Mandy Michaels was getting more press right now and was _also_ nominated for Breakout Female Star. Camille totally deserved that award. She knew she did.

But she knew how the industry worked. Awards like the TCAs were only half based on performance. The other half had to do with the kind of buzz you were generating. And despite Camille’s recent successes, she still wasn’t A-list.

The problem was, she didn’t have any _personal_ drama, like Mandy’s stupid star athlete boyfriend. It didn’t matter how good you were if no one gossiped about you over the water cooler. Mandy Michaels-types never won Oscars, but Meryl Streep-types never made the cover of _Persons_.

Camille wanted both.

She dug into her tiny clutch, trying to yank her phone out without spilling her drink. How long had it been? Maybe it was late enough that she could leave without Kimiyo killing her.

She tugged violently on her phone and her elbow jerked back hard into the person standing behind her. “Oof!” the person grunted.

Camille turned. “Sorry, sorry, I was trying to – _James?_ ”

Sure enough, it was her old Palm Woods pal James Diamond, just as tall and ridiculously attractive as ever. “Camille? Hey!”

Camille tilted her cheek up for a Hollywood air kiss, but instead found herself grabbed in a full body hug so enthusiastic that her feet left the ground and her drink sloshed out of her glass. She couldn’t help grinning as she hugged James back. You could take the boy out of Minnesota, but you couldn’t take the Minnesota out of the boy. “How are you?”

“I’m good! How are you?” he asked, releasing her. Camille gave her skirt a hasty downward tug. “You look great.”

“Thanks, so do you,” she said. He did, too. Apparently at some point Katie Knight had convinced him to ditch the Ed Hardy look, because he was wearing a simple button-down – with several buttons undone, of course – and extremely well-fitted jeans. Maybe it was the slightly more grownup look, or maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t a teenager anymore, but he’d lost the puppyish quality he’d had back in his Big Time Rush days, as if he’d finally grown into his hands and feet. “How are the guys?”

“Good, they’re good,” he said. “Kendall and Carlos are actually in town for the summer. We should try to set something up, I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she said. And waited.

“Oh, and, uh, Logan. He’s good too. But he’s at UCLA, so he’s always in town. Doing his doctor thing. Doctor Logan. You know.” James coughed, looked at a spot somewhere above Camille’s head, and scratched his neck. “Stuff.”

Camille couldn’t help smiling. “James, you’re being very sweet, but Logan and I broke up five years ago. And then he, you know, _came out_. I am long past over it.”

“Oh.” James smiled, clearly relieved. “Well, good.”

An awkward silence fell, and Camille fumbled for something to fill it with. “So, uh, you’ve got a new album coming out soon, huh? I heard the single.”

Actually, she’d downloaded the single. And the one he’d done for the Dak Zevon movie last winter, and a couple of otherwise-forgettable romantic comedies before that. She hadn’t really seen James since Big Time Rush had broken up, what with him laying low and her being on location a lot, but he was still her friend, and she still wanted to support him.

Besides, his voice was dreamy. She wasn’t made of _stone_.

James brightened. “Yeah, in a few weeks. It’s pretty exciting. I – yipe!”

He grabbed Camille, ducking behind her to use her as a shield. Since he was about a foot taller than she was, it wasn’t very effective.

“What are you doing?” she asked, craning her neck to look at him.

“Solana’s coming this way!” he hissed. “We broke up again last month. If she sees me, I’m dead meat!”

Camille raised an eyebrow. “James, trust me. She’s gonna see you.”

James let out a little squeak of despair, then straightened up, grabbed Camille’s hand, and took off. “Come on!”

“Yipe!” Camille had to move quickly to keep up with James’ long legs as he tore through the house. She managed to put her drink down semi-safely on a table as they passed it, then veered to avoid crashing into Jean-Luc Varn Darn. “Sorry!” she called as James bolted around a corner, opened the nearest door, and dragged Camille in after him.

It was a supply closet. Of course.

Camille squinted at James in the faint light coming from above and below the door. “I take it you two had a bad breakup?”

“Let’s just say I won’t be selling many albums in South America,” James said, turning this way and that, as if to make sure Solana wasn’t about to come crashing through the door. It wasn’t a very roomy closet, and his twisting about would’ve knocked Camille off-balance if she hadn’t yelped and grabbed onto his shirt. “Sorry.”

He put a steadying hand on her waist and tried to step back to give her some room, but there was nowhere for him to go. Camille took his moment of distraction to hastily tug her skirt down again. Her dress was not meant for running in.

“So how long do we have to wait in here?” Camille asked.

James tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Usually when I get stuck in closets I either fall asleep or open the door just when the person I’m hiding from walks by. So let’s go with the first one.”

“I am not spending the whole night in a supply closet, James!” Camille protested, though the truth was that this was a lot more fun than the party had been.

“Let’s just give it a few more minutes, okay?” James pleaded. It was too dark to see his face, but from his tone of voice, Camille was fairly certain he was making puppy dog eyes.

She sighed. “Fine. But you owe me a drink.”

“Deal.”

They lapsed into silence. Camille shifted, trying to find a comfortable place to lean without getting poked by a broom. The closet was so small that there was nowhere to go where at least part of her wasn’t touching part of James, but she figured he didn’t mind – he’d always been very touchy-feely, and besides, this was his fault.

She couldn’t help noticing that he smelled really good. At the Palm Woods he’d always had seven or eight different Cuda products competing for fragrance dominance, but he seemed to have narrowed it down to one of the better ones. It might not have even been Cuda, though she couldn’t imagine James betraying his brand. Whatever it was, it was subtle and expensive and very, very male.

The supply closet suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.

“I liked _House Party_ ,” James said abruptly.

Camille blinked. “Oh?” _House Party_ , a standard raunchy teen sex comedy, had been her first real break last year. She’d played the lead actress’s nerdy best friend, which had mainly consisted of unleashing a torrent of absolutely _filthy_ double entendres with every line.

The movie was mediocre at best, but it had been wildly successful. And Camille, never one for false modesty, knew very well that she’d stolen every scene she was in, with her juxtaposition of pocket protectors and potty mouth. Still, the fact that James had liked it was surprisingly flattering.

“Yeah,” he said. “You were really funny. _League of Nations_ was really good too,” he added, referring to the Christmas Day alien-fighting blockbuster that Camille had played the love interest/gun-toting babe in. “I didn’t know you could do a Russian accent.”

Camille smiled. “Spasibo.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Camille brushed something tickly away from her shoulder. She hoped there weren’t spiders in here. “I don’t think I’ll do another action movie for a while, though. Too many sit-ups involved.”

“Well, they worked,” James said. “I mean, you looked…the catsuit that you wore…it was…you looked good.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “Hey, we’ve probably been in this closet long enough, right? Right.”

Clearly frazzled, he tried to turn around as he reached for the doorknob. There wasn’t room for that in the closet, though, and he bumped into Camille. He leaped back as if scalded, and his right hand hit a shelf, sending its contents flying, while his left foot came down in a bucket.

Camille ducked to avoid the cleaning products. James veered wildly, trying to shake the bucket off his foot. He grabbed for the doorknob again and nearly fell. Camille tried to pull him upright. Brooms and mops clattered everywhere.

“Whoa, watch out!”

“Careful, don’t – ”

The door opened and they went tumbling out onto the floor.

Camille hit the ground first and would have cracked her skull against the marble if James hadn’t managed to get his hand under her head. As it was, the breath was knocked out of her, and it was a moment before she could get her eyes open and take stock of her bearings.

When she did, she was lying flat on her back with James on top of her and his arms around her. A crowd of Hollywood’s finest was staring at them in delighted shock.

And the event photographers were snapping pictures like their lives depended on it.

“James?” she asked. Her voice came out wheezy and barely audible, which was probably for the best.

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me my skirt’s still down.”


	2. do you wanna be famous?

“Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up!”

James woke with a start as something landed on top of him. There were people in his room and voices screaming at him, and for a minute he couldn’t figure out what was going on.

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and realized that Kendall, Logan, and Carlos were all on his bed. Kendall was waving a phone in his face and yelling, Logan was jabbering and poking at something on his laptop, and Carlos was sitting on top of him and hitting him with a magazine.

“Wuh-huh?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“ _You’re_ going on!” Carlos said. “You’re all over the news!”

“You’re all over the _gossip_ sites,” Logan corrected.

“What?” James asked. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, dislodging Carlos. “Because of the album?”

“Oh-ho-ho- _no_ , Romeo,” Kendall said. “Because of this.”

He held his phone up to reveal a picture of James and Camille on the floor of the party last night, looking up at the camera in shock. James couldn’t deny that it looked pretty incriminating.

“Deke’s saying you two were caught in a ‘passionate embrace’ at the party last night,” Kendall said. “All the major sites are weighing in on it.”

Logan twirled his laptop around so that James could see the screen, which was set to SnoobTube. “Someone recognized Camille in the video for ‘The City Is Ours,’ and it’s gotten over 10,000 views in the past 12 hours. And the related links are your music videos and clips of her from _House Party_ , and _they’ve_ all jumped by thousands and thousands of hits.”

“ _And_ ,” Carlos added, displaying the magazine, “ _Persons Magazine_ wants to know if you two are the hot new Hollywood item.”

James snatched the magazine out of his hands. Sure enough, he and Camille had been poorly photomanipulated together in an inset next to a cover story about a Hopeless Housewife’s addiction to Hot Pockets. “I made the cover of _Persons?_ ” he cried. “I’ve never been on _Persons_ before! This is huge! I – ” 

Suddenly he stopped and looked at Logan. “Oh, dude, I’m sorry. Is this…I didn’t mean to…”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “James. You told us what happened last night. I am not mad at you for tripping and falling on my ex-girlfriend from five years ago. Also: gay. Remember?”

“Right.” James breathed out, relieved, then went back to gazing at his face on the cover of _Persons_. “Looks like I can cross another item off of my list of things to do before I turn thirty. And how great do I look in this picture?”

Before anyone could answer, his phone rang. Kendall grabbed it off the nightstand and tossed it to James. He frowned at the unknown number, then answered it. “Hello?”

“Did you see _Persons?_ ” a familiar voice asked.

“…Camille?”

“Yeah! Did you see?”

“Yes! That’s totally us!” He paused. “Wait. How did you get this number?”

“I had my agent call Katie. James, this is so exciting! I’ve never been on the cover of _Persons_ before!”

“Me neither!” He mouthed “Camille saw the magazine” at his friends and they nodded. Carlos waved. “I guess they think we’re a couple or something? We should get caught lying on top of each other more often.”

Camille paused, and James suddenly realized what he’d said. Whoops. Had that been hitting on her? He usually knew when he was hitting on girls, but with Camille it had always been a little tricky, what with her being his best friend’s girlfriend who he accidentally kissed that one time and who he would’ve totally asked out if she hadn’t been his best friend’s girlfriend and all.

He glanced at Logan, who was raising an eyebrow practically into his hairline. Crap.

“I, uh…”

“James, that’s brilliant,” Camille said.

Huh? “Huh?”

“What gets media attention? Talent? Hard work?”

James snorted. “No.”

“Exactly! It’s _drama_ , and neither of us have any drama.”

“Not true!” James protested. “Me and Solana have drama! For…three days at a time. Then she usually goes back to South America.”

“Exactly my point,” Camille said. “It’s not a story that sticks. But if you and _I_ were seen on the town together a few times…”

James tapped his chin. “Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.”

“What’s a good idea?” Logan asked.

James covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Pretending to date Camille for media attention.”

“That’s a terrible idea!” Logan said.

“Hey, it got us on the cover of _Persons_ ,” James pointed out.

“That was an _accident_ ,” Logan said.

“James? You still there?” Camille asked.

James took his hand away from the mouthpiece. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here. And I’m in.”

“Great!” Camille said. “Why don’t I come over so that we can work out the details?”

“Now?”

“If you’re free.”

James glanced at the clock. “Give me an hour to get pretty. I’m in my underwear and I’ve got three guys in my bed.”

There was silence on the other end, and Kendall cracked up for some reason. “…Okay,” Camille said. “You sort that out and I’ll see you in an hour.”

She hung up. James pushed Carlos off of him so that he could get out of bed. “Camille’s coming over. Somebody find me some pants.”

“Tell me you’re not actually considering this,” Logan said.

“Pants!” James told him, and headed for the shower.

He was still fussing with his hair when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” Kendall called, and James could hear Camille’s voice in the hallway as she greeted the guys. He checked his reflection one last time. Finding it as handsome as ever, he winked at himself and walked into the living room.

Camille was there, wearing a pair of shorts that made her legs look like they went on for days, and holding a bakery bag. “I stopped and picked up muffins. And I called Dak Zevon and invited him over. I hope you don’t mind.”

James frowned as Camille started passing around the muffins. “Why? Does he really like pastries?”

“No, but he’s like the industry expert on fake dating,” Camille explained as Carlos claimed the chocolate-chocolate chip muffin. “He fake dated Jo last year.”

“I _knew_ that couldn’t be for real!” Kendall said triumphantly. They all turned to look at him. “Not that I, uh, care or anything.”

“Wait,” Logan said, selecting a bran muffin. “Dak Zevon is _the_ biggest heartthrob in Hollywood. Why would he need to fake date anyone?”

“Because he’s gay,” Camille said.

Logan choked on his muffin.

“It’s true!” Camille said, as Kendall gave Logan a solid whack on the back. “Jo told me.” The doorbell rang. “Oh, that must be him now. Ixnay on the aygay.”

“Who’s Aygay?” Carlos asked as James went to answer the door. For some reason James wasn’t totally thrilled about Camille asking the biggest heartthrob in Hollywood for advice, but he felt a little better about it now that he knew Dak was gay.

He opened the door to find a strange man in a ten-gallon hat, sunglasses, and a huge handlebar mustache standing there. “Uh…can I help you?”

The stranger lifted his sunglasses. “It’s me, Dak. Quick, let me in!”

James stepped back and Dak scooted into the house, then closed the door behind him. “Sorry about that. The paparazzi don’t leave me alone unless I wear a disguise.”

James let out a little sigh of longing.

“Yeah, it’s pretty great.” Dak took off his hat and peeled off the mustache. “Now let’s get this fake relationship going so that you can get some paparazzi of your own.”

James led him into the living room and there was another quick round of greetings, though Logan scowled as he shook Dak’s hand. “So Dak,” Camille said as they all sat down, “what I’m gunning for here is the Breakout Female TCA. Can we make that happen?”

“Sure,” Dak said. “I’m actually hosting this year, so you picked the right person to come to for advice. James, you’re up for an award too, right?” James nodded. “Perfect. Just follow my lead, and you two will be cleaning up on awards night.”

“Excellent.” Camille grinned. “Academy Awards, here I come!”

Kendall frowned. “Uh, aren’t these the _Teen Choice_ Awards?”

“It’s a stepping stone,” Camille said. She pulled out a laminated sheet of paper. “I worked this out years ago. Look, see, I win the TCA this year, and that puts me in the running for a regular People’s Choice Award _next_ year. Then an Emmy for a tearjerker guest performance on a hospital drama, a SAG award or two, an unexpected Golden Globe for a romantic comedy, and bam!” She clapped her hands together triumphantly. “In seven years’ time I’m getting the Oscar for Best Actress. I’ve got it all down to a science.”

Dak looked over the plan, nodding. “Yeah, this makes sense. I like how you adjusted for box office inflation here. Very impressive.”

Camille tossed her hair modestly. Logan grabbed the paper and stared at it. “This is nonsense!” he said.

Dak ignored him. “Okay, here’s my plan. Over the next six weeks, you two are inseparable. You don’t go out without each other. You don’t get photographed without each other. Everything you do is calculated to convince every man, woman, and especially teenager in America that you are desperately in love.”

James nodded and glanced at Camille, who smiled at him. He smiled back. He was no actor – his guest spot on _The Rash and the Reckless_ a few months ago had proved that – but he could definitely pretend to be in love with Camille for six weeks.

“And a week before the TCAs, James dumps Camille like a sack of old cheese.”

James blinked at Dak. “Come again?”

“Dating will put you two on the map, but it won’t necessarily make you beloved,” Dak explained. “For every person who thinks you two are cuter than a sleepy hedgehog, there’ll be some girl who’s jealous of Camille, or some guy who thinks ex-boy band members are losers.” He glanced around at the other former members of BTR. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Kendall said, looking faintly amused. “Do go on.”

“If James breaks up with you publicly, Camille, that makes you an instant martyr. All of a sudden you’re on the cover of _Persons_ with captions like ‘Her Broken Heart.’ ‘Inside sources’ are telling the gossip sites that you cry yourself to sleep every night. Everyone will rally to your cause.” He turned to James. “Meanwhile, by breaking up with America’s Sweetheart, you get some much needed bad boy cred. You’re no longer a pretty face from a boy band – you’re a heartbreaker.”

“Unbelievable!” Logan exploded.

“You don’t think I can be a heartbreaker?” James asked, wounded.

“I _think_ that _Varsity Vampire_ over here is telling you two to get ahead by _lying_ , and that someone is going to get hurt.” He looked at Kendall. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.”

“I think it’s moronic,” Kendall said cheerfully. He stood up. “But since I quit the band, I don’t have to deal with Hollywood nonsense like fake dating anymore. I am _so_ not getting involved in this. Besides, I’m late for work.” He stood up. “Carlos, you coming?”

Carlos popped the last of his third muffin into his mouth and jumped to his feet. “Yup! I have to go visit the guy who runs the corn dog stand outside of Rocque Records,” he explained to the others. “He missed me so much this semester he _cried_ when he saw me. Said I put his kids through college.”

“Well, _I_ have to go learn how to save lives,” Logan said, standing up as well.

James frowned. “I thought you weren’t taking any summer classes.”

“There’s a lecture on the history of the Heimlich Maneuver at the Smart Center. So I’ve decided to use _my_ free time to do something _useful_ ,” Logan said. “Enjoy your _muffins_ and _deception_.”

Dak waved. “Thanks!”

“Hmmph!” Logan stuck his laptop in his shoulder bag and followed Kendall and Carlos out the door, slamming it behind him. James winced. Maybe Logan was madder about the whole James-and-Camille thing than he’d let on.

“Okay, now, listen up!” Dak said, rapping a wooden pointer against a whiteboard that James was pretty sure he hadn’t owned thirty seconds ago. “Here are the key components of dating in Hollywood.” He pointed to the items on the whiteboard as he went down the list. “Be seen leaving the Coffee Bean with enormous cups at least three times a day. Visit each other on set and at the studio. Attend Lakers games together and look bored.”

“It’s not basketball season,” Camille pointed out.

Dak waved a careless hand. “We can photoshop that. Buy a small, hideous dog together.”

James raised his hand. “Uh, Gustavo said I’m not allowed to have any pets after the last time.”

“Work with me here, James,” Dak said. “You’re going to need to get some wool hats. Camille, I’ll need you to wear an eclectic straw fedora, an enormous cardigan, and tiny shorts.”

Camille gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

“Now come on, stand up,” Dak said. “We’re going to practice the Walk and Block.”

James and Camille stood. “The what?” James asked.

“Like this.” Dak took Camille’s hand. “Here we are, walking along, being in love…oh no, paparazzi! Quick, I’ll walk in front of my girlfriend so that she isn’t photographed!” He held his arm in front of his face and shielded Camille with his body.

“But isn’t the whole _point_ to get photographed?” James asked.

Dak rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But you can’t look like you _want_ to get photographed. Now here.” He put Camille’s hand in James’. “You try it.”

James looked at Camille, who shrugged. “I’m game if you are,” she said.

“Okay, now walk…” Dak said, nodding as they crossed through the living room. “And block!” Suddenly he was in James’ face with a camera, flashbulbs popping a mile a minute. Blinded and startled, James shrieked, tried to get in front of Camille, and tripped over the coffee table, taking her down with him.

“Ow.” Camille sat up, rubbing her hip. “So far this is a very dangerous relationship for me.”

Through the haze of spots in his vision, James could see Dak shaking his head at them. “I can see we have our work cut out for us. Okay, on your feet, troops! Let’s try it again.”

*

“Do you see any press yet?” James hissed.

“Shh,” Camille said. “And no. How did Dak say he was going to get them here?”

“He didn’t,” James said. “He just poked me in the eye with these sunglasses and shoved us out the door.”

Camille glanced around the Coffee Bean. There were people drinking coffee, people working on their laptops, and one lone artist bent over a sketchbook in the corner. But there were no paparazzi.

She sighed. Dak had made them practice the Walk and Block over and over again, not to mention Synchronized Texting, Looking Bored at Fashion Shows, and the Red-Carpet Hand on the Small of the Back. Camille wiggled a little, remembering the warmth of James’ hand through her shirt. She hoped she hadn’t been blushing.

After what had seemed like hours, Dak had stuck oversized sunglasses on their faces and sent them out on a coffee run. The press would be there, he’d assured them. But here they were, holding hands in the Coffee Bean and wearing sunglasses indoors, and so far no one had even given them a second glance.

God, she hoped her hands weren’t clammy.

“Can I help you?” the barista asked.

“Yeah, can I get a medium soy latte with sugar-free hazelnut?” James asked. “What do you want, Camille?”

“Oh, uh…small strawberry frappe?” She reached for her purse, but James shook his head.

“I got it,” he said, and handed the barista a twenty.

“James, you don’t have to…”

“I know,” he said, and flashed her that dazzling smile. “I want to.”

Camille did her level best not to swoon. That smile ought to be classified as a lethal weapon. “Well, thank you. I…”

“Besides, Dak would probably kill me if found out I let you buy your own coffee,” James went on.

Right. This was _fake_ dating. Camille nodded and accepted her frappe from the barista with a pleasantly neutral expression. This was one role she couldn’t let herself get method on.

“So…now what do we do?” James asked as they walked out of the Coffee Bean.

_“Dak! Dak, over here!”_

James and Camille turned to see Dak walking towards them. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but that clearly wasn’t fooling any of the dozen or so paparazzi following along behind him, snapping pictures like their lives depended on it and screaming questions at him.

“Dak!” “Dak, what’s your next project?” “Smile, Dak!” “Is it true that Elvis is alive and wants you to play him in a movie?” “Over here, Dak!” “Dak, what’s the story with you and Miley Cyrus?”

Completely ignoring them, Dak spotted James and Camille and waved. “Hey! What are you guys doing here?”

“You told us to – ” James started to say, but Camille elbowed him hard in the ribs, cutting him off.

“I heard you two were an item,” Dak said. “Congratulations! You look adorable together.” He turned to the paparazzi. “Don’t they look adorable together?”

Suddenly all those cameras were turned on James and Camille. This obviously wasn’t the time for a Walk and Block, so instead Camille smiled and cuddled up against James. “I guess the secret is out, huh, sweetie?” she said, looking up at him.

James blinked, then caught on. “Guess so, sugar…face.”

“James! What about Solana?” one of the photographers asked.

“How long have you two been dating?” another wanted to know.

“Can we get a kiss?” a third asked, hefting his camera.

A kiss? Camille glanced at James, then at Dak, who nodded furiously.

She shrugged. “Sure, why not?” she said. Handing the nearest paparazzi her frappe, she grabbed James by the collar and hauled him in for a good, solid kiss.

James squeaked and grabbed her with his free hand, nearly pitching forward. Even startled, he was a good kisser, soft and warm and eager, tasting faintly of coffee and aspartame.

Camille held the kiss as the paparazzi shouted and the cameras went off, then released James, breathing hard. He gave her a crooked grin and adjusted his collar. She reached up and flicked a lock of his hair back into place, then accepted her frappe from the photographer she’d handed it to and turned to face the thrilled paparazzi.

Over their heads, Dak gave her a thumbs up.

“No further questions,” she said, and, biting her lip to hide her grin, she grabbed James’ hand and headed off.

And the crowd of paparazzi followed behind them.


	3. you got me thinking we could be a thing

“For the record, I still think this is a terrible idea,” Logan said, glaring at the label on a bouquet of flowers. “Also, they spelled ‘chrysanthemums’ wrong.”

“The record is aware of your objections,” Dak said dryly. “And so are the rest of us. Since you keep reminding us. Every five minutes. For three weeks now. It’s old.”

“Well, no one seems to be listening to me! Am I the _only one_ who thinks that lying about who you are is wrong?”

“All he’s doing is pretending to date Camille,” Dak said. “He’s not hiding a secret past as a jewel thief or something.” He looked at James. “Wait, are you? Because that would be awesome.”

Logan rolled his eyes and turned to James. “James. Come on. This is a stupid plan. Kendall agrees with me, you know he does.”

James opened his mouth to reply, but Dak jumped in before he could. “ _Kendall_ hasn’t been following us around nagging us.”

“I – ” James started.

“That’s because _Kendall_ has a job, and I’m on summer break, so _I’m_ the one who has to stop this moron from doing something stupid!” Logan said.

“ _Hey_ , that’s – ”

“Or it’s because _Kendall_ trusts his adult friends to make their own decisions!” Dak shot back.

“He’s – ”

“Well, then, Kendall’s an idiot!” Logan snapped.

“ _Hey!_ ” James yelled. “Could you two stop fighting for two seconds so that I can buy Camille some freaking flowers already?”

Dak and Logan each mumbled something that might have been an apology, then glared at each other and stalked to opposite sides of the flower shop. James sighed. The two of them were the only downside of the past three weeks. Logan was James’ best friend, and James liked Dak a lot, but if they didn’t stop bickering soon he was probably going to murder them both.

But bickering buddies aside, the past three weeks had been some of the best of his life, ranking right up there with his first week in LA, BTR’s first tour, and spring break last year with the Brazilian women’s volleyball team. He’d gone from a punchline – the pretty boy from a boy band trying to make it on his own – to half of Hollywood’s hottest couple overnight. The paparazzi were everywhere, along with screaming crowds of girls offering to take him away from Camille. Katie was fielding talk show invitations and endorsement deals every day. And judging by the preorders that were already in, it looked like his album would drop the week after next with better sales than anything he’d done with Big Time Rush.

And he owed it all to Camille. So when Dak had dropped by that morning and suggested he surprise her with flowers on her last day of filming, James had readily agreed. Logan, who’d been over for breakfast, tagged along, complaining all the way.

Now Logan was busily looking something up on his phone. “Ooh, see if you can find some fennel,” he said. “That’s supposed to be a symbol of _deception_.”

Dak rolled his eyes and handed James a bouquet. “There. A dozen red roses. Let’s go.”

James handed them back. “No, Camille doesn’t like roses. Says they’re too predictable. She likes that other flower, the one with the thing that goes like…and the petals go…” He motioned, trying to indicate the shape he meant.

Dak stared blankly at him. James pointed to a bouquet behind Logan. “There, that kind! That purple one.”

“Irises?” Logan picked up the bouquet and handed it to James. “How do you know Camille’s favorite flower?”

“She was wearing one in her hair, and I asked about it, and she said it was her favorite,” James said, rummaging for his wallet. “It was, uh…the Palm Woods graduation party? Yeah, I think that was it.”

Logan and Dak exchanged glances. “James, that was four years ago,” Logan said. “You can barely remember how _keys_ work. How do you remember that?”

James shrugged. “I dunno. She looked pretty.” He put a couple of twenties down on the counter. “You’re sure the cashier will be okay?”

Logan walked over to the cashier, who had swooned into her chair when Dak Zevon and James Diamond had walked into her store and smiled at her, and checked her pulse. “She’ll be fine.”

They headed for James’ car, weaving through the crowd of paparazzi that was gathered outside the store, and drove to Camille’s set. Dak and Logan fought the whole way, and James made them both stay in the car as he walked onto the set. The crew of _The Stabbing Hour_ knew him on sight and he was waved on through, tiptoeing as an AD gave the signal for silence.

A door on the set burst open and Camille came running in, bloodied and limping. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard.

Then she lifted the bloody knife she carried, and smiled.

James couldn’t help his shiver. Camille had told him – after swearing him to secrecy – that the big twist in the movie was that she was the killer, when all along the audience thought she was the victim. Camille had jumped at the role, which allowed her to essentially play two parts. After seeing some of the footage – and the evil look on Camille’s face right now – James planned to sleep with the lights on for at least a week after the movie came out.

“Cut!” the director called. “And that is it! Camille, my dear, you are wrapped!”

Camille blinked, and suddenly she was herself again, not a scary, bloody girl with a knife. She beamed, and James couldn’t help smiling in response. “You’re sure?”

“Yup. You are all done, girl.” An AD came over and wrapped Camille in a bathrobe so that she wouldn’t get blood all over everything. Then the crew descended upon Camille, hugging and congratulating her. James hovered at the outskirts of the mob, feeling a little out of place.

Somehow, Camille spotted him. “James!” She pushed through the crowd. “James, I made a movie!” she yelled, and leaped into his arms.

Laughing, he caught her and spun her around. Camille’s enthusiasm was always infectious, and besides, he was proud of her. His fake girlfriend was starring in a movie! “Heck yeah, you did!” he said, and let her slide back down to the ground. “Here. Flowers for the movie star.”

Camille peeked in at the flowers. “Aw, irises are my favorites! James Diamond, you are so sweet.” She grinned and wrapped her arms around James’ neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

James was happy to oblige. He’d had to kiss Camille a lot over the past few weeks, but that was okay. She was an awfully good kisser.

Camille pulled back just far enough to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Dak thought I should surprise you,” he whispered back.

He felt her stiffen slightly. “Oh.”

“I picked out the irises, though,” he said.

“Oh.” Camille pulled back to look at him, and he couldn’t quite read her expression. “Well…well, they’re beautiful.”

James suddenly realized that everyone on the set was craning forward, trying to overhear their conversation. He pulled back. “Why don’t we go out to celebrate?” he asked. “Maybe at Le Food?” He didn’t really care for the menu at Le Food, but it was a place to see and be seen.

“Sure,” she said, releasing him. “Let me put these in water and change into something a little less bloody.” She headed for her dressing room.

“Don’t take too long!” James called after her.

She stopped, turning to look at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in a question. For a moment something felt funny in James’ chest – almost like pain, but not quite.

“Uh…I left Dak and Logan in the car together,” he explained, giving his chest a quick thump to clear it. It didn’t work. “If we don’t hurry up, they’ll kill each other.”

Camille smiled and the feeling grew worse. “I’ll be quick,” she said, and vanished around the corner. James sighed and turned to the line of production assistants and set dressers waiting for autographs. Maybe Logan could listen to his chest with one of his eight billion stethoscopes later. The last thing James needed was to come down with something.

*

“So, Camille, what’s it like dating James Diamond?”

Camille coughed to cover her yawn. She didn’t want Shira, the reporter from _Girl Magazine_ , to think she was rude, but last night’s party had gone until 3 am, and she’d been in hair and makeup for _Girl’s_ cover shoot at 6 am. It had been the only time she could fit it into her schedule, which had only gotten busier once _The Stabbing Hour_ wrapped.

“It’s like dating my best friend. He just really _gets_ me,” she said, smiling conspiratorially, as if from one gal pal to another. Dak had made her practice that line at least a hundred times. She couldn’t begin to guess how many journalists she’d told it to over the past four weeks, but they never seemed to get tired of it.

They also never seemed to get tired of _Camille_ , or more accurately James-and-Camille (or “Jamille,” as some of the gossip blogs had dubbed them). Camille had shot from C-list to A-list, or at least B-plus-list, almost overnight. Her phone was ringing off the hook with movie offers and party invitations and requests for favors. Every day there was a new rumor – that she was cheating on James with Dak, or one of the other guys from Big Time Rush; that she was pregnant; that Solana had threatened her; that James had bought her enough diamonds to choke a camel. The paparazzi followed her everywhere.

Camille loved it.

It might have been different if she’d had to face the onslaught alone. There had certainly been times when the crush of the paparazzi was physically intimidating. And the fact that it was all based on a lie made the whole thing even more risky.

But she had James, and that made all the difference.

True, he wasn’t bright. If a tricky question came their way, Camille always jumped in to answer it before James could slip and say something potentially disastrous. But he was so handsome and charming that it barely mattered what he said – he won over just about everyone they met before he even opened his mouth.

But it was more than James’ dazzling smile and easy camaraderie, or his sheer size when the paparazzi got too aggressive. It was knowing she wasn’t alone. No matter how crazy her sudden fame got, James was right there with her, ready for anything. He was a solid, comforting presence at red carpet events, one hand at the small of her back as they posed for photos; he was there in the limo afterwards, when she could kick off her shoes and drop the façade and just _be_ for a few minutes. He was her ally in Dak’s training sessions when Dak got totally manic. He made her laugh no matter how tired she was, even if it wasn’t always on purpose.

And he _understood_. He had the same fire in his belly that she did – to be seen, to be noticed, to be the _best_. He understood why this was so important, when Kendall thought it was silly and Logan thought it was downright idiotic.

It was like dating her best friend. He just really _got_ her.

It was too bad that it would all have to end in two weeks. But they’d still be friends, once the requisite period of shunning one another in public was over. And she wanted that Teen Choice Award, and all that came with it, so bad she could taste it.

“Is it difficult finding time to spend together with your busy schedules?” Shira asked.

Camille blinked and tried to pretend she hadn’t been woolgathering. “Not right now,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll get more difficult after his album, _Diamond_ , drops next week. You know, Tuesday? July 19th? Rocque Records?” Plugs were part of the deal.

“I know. It seems like you can’t go anywhere these days without hearing ‘Girl Time,’” Shira said, referring to the single that for some reason always made Kendall laugh. “Is it hard watching him with all those other girls in the video?”

“Oh, no, it’s all part of the business,” Camille said. “Of course, it had better not be time for any girl but me in real life!” She laughed merrily, and Shira joined in. She really _didn’t_ care about the girls in that video. Jo had assured her that none of them were as pretty as her.

“So right now we’re both in L.A., but he’s going on tour soon, and then I’ll be promoting _The Stabbing Hour_ ,” Camille continued. “It’ll probably be a bit tougher then, but I think we can make it work.” Of course, they wouldn’t have to, since it would be after their breakup in two weeks, but Shira didn’t need to know that now.

“Well, good luck to you,” Shira said, smiling. “So what’s he like in bed?”

Camille blinked. “Uh…isn’t _Girl Magazine_ for, like, 13-year-olds?”

“Yeah, no, this isn’t for the article. I’m just asking,” Shira said. She leaned forward, chin in her hands, and looked at Camille expectantly.

“Uh…” Camille coughed to stall for time. She could probably give an educated guess. You couldn’t kiss a guy every day for four weeks and not wonder. And _from_ those kisses – and that body that didn’t quit, and the gentleness of that big clumsy frame when he held her, and the way he sometimes looked at her that sent prickles of heat dancing along her skin – she had a feeling James was no slouch in the bedroom.

But Dak had said to always leave them wanting more. “Sorry, no comment,” she said, with a blush she didn’t have to force. “A girl’s gotta have her secrets, after all!”

Shira nodded, looking disappointed, and they moved on to safer topics, like politics and Camille’s favorite lip gloss. Camille answered cheerfully, gulping water between questions to clear away the burning flush in her cheeks.

Maybe it was a good thing this was ending soon. The media was getting entirely too nosy.

*

This was, without a doubt, the best night of James’ life.

After years of planning and months of recording, his debut solo album had finally, _finally_ dropped. It had been his dream since the first time he’d seen the Spice Girls “Say You’ll Be There” video at age two, but even with all his planning and hoping and wishing, he hadn’t expected it to be like this.

He couldn’t have anticipated the thrill of walking the red carpet at his very own album release party, Camille on his arm. He couldn’t have predicted how his heart raced at walking into the party and hearing the album, _his_ album, blaring over the speakers. He couldn’t have known how good it would feel to have all his Hollywood friends and acquaintances hugging and congratulating him. He’d been at the party for two hours now and it seemed like everywhere he turned more people wanted to toast his success: Kat’s Crew, Russell Brand, Jo, Ed Begley, Jr., Jenny Tinkler and Deathsmash, Dak (with his arm around a leggy supermodel, of course), Lightning…

And of course, there was his team: Katie, Gustavo, Kelly in her new role as production manager, and the guys (with Logan glaring at Dak and the leggy supermodel).

And Camille. They’d split up when they arrived at the party, mingling separately, but now she pushed her way back through the crowd, grinning at James. He felt his heart speed up a bit.

Camille looped her arm through his. “I’ve been talking you up,” she said, gesturing to the crowd. “Not that I need to. Everyone seems to love the album.” She squeezed his arm. “James, this is so exciting!”

“I know, I’m freaking out,” he admitted. “I’ve been dreaming about this so long, and I – ”

Katie tugged on his other arm. “Sorry to break up the lovefest, but it’s time for your speech.”

Camille released him, and Katie and James headed to the mic that had been set up at the end of the room, next to a giant picture of the album cover. Katie gestured to the sound technicians, who turned off the music. Then she picked up the mic.

“Hi, everyone, and thanks for coming. Are we all having a good time?”

There were cheers and applause from the crowd. Katie smiled. “We’re here, of course, to celebrate the release of James Diamond’s debut solo album, _Diamond_. I know James and everyone at Rocque Records put a lot of hard work into this album, and I hope you all enjoy it.” Cheers again. “And now, I know James wanted to say a few words, so I’ll hand the mic over to him.”

As the crowd applauded, Katie covered the mic and turned to James. “Don’t say anything stupid,” she warned him, and handed him the mic.

“Thanks, Katie,” James said. “And thanks to all of you for being here tonight. I really appreciate being able to celebrate with two hundred of my closest friends and strangers.” The crowd laughed, even though James hadn’t been trying to be funny. “Uh. Right. I had a lot of fun making this album, and I hope you have fun listening to it. I just want to thank a few people…”

He fumbled for the list Katie had made him write down, squinted at it, turned it right side up, and read the first name. “Katie Knight, my amazing manager. I remember when she was _born_ , and now she is the most terrifying human being I know. Thank you, Katie.” Katie looked up from her phone and grinned.

James went on. “My number one producer, Gustavo Rocque, who I hope hates me a little less now than he did when I first auditioned for him six years ago.” Gustavo made a “so-so” gesture with his hand. “I’ll take it. Kelly Wainwright, who kept this album going through fights, budget cuts, and one freak tornado.” Kelly smiled modestly. “My very best friends in the world: Kendall Knight, Logan Mitchell, and Carlos Garcia. I wouldn’t be here without you, and not just because of Big Time Rush. You guys are my brothers, and I love you.”

The spotlight swiveled around to the former BTR members. Kendall grinned, Logan waved a little nervously, and Carlos yelled, “I love you too!” through a mouthful of food.

James put the list back in his pocket. “And of course, Camille.” The spotlight picked her up again, shimmering on her turquoise dress and the dark curls tumbled over one bare shoulder. She was radiant, beaming up at him, and somehow James knew, he just _knew_ that her ear-to-ear smile was for him and not the event photographer, swirling around to capture this moment between young Hollywood’s hottest couple.

“I’m so glad we found each other again,” he said. “These past few weeks have been the best weeks of my life, and it’s all because of you. Thank you.”

They were the words Dak and Katie had labored over for an hour, aiming for the perfect blend of sweet but not cloying. But as James said them, he found that he meant every word. And not because being with Camille had made him more famous.

The ache was back in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something else – not at all sure what it was – when Katie let out a whoop, waved her phone in the air, and grabbed the mic. “The numbers just came in. Less than 24 hours on sale, and _Diamond_ has gone platinum!”

The crowd erupted into cheers. Logan and Carlos jumped on James, shouting their congratulations, while Kendall picked Katie up and spun her around in a circle as she shrieked at him to put her down, she was a professional, dammit. Gustavo gave James a hearty thump on the back, several people tried to shake his hand at once, and Camille flung herself into his arms.

“Way to go, James!” she cried, and kissed him. “I knew you could do it!”

James’ arms tightened around her as he plastered a smile on his face. He was supposed to be happy right now. He _should_ be happy right now. All his friends were. Camille was clearly thrilled. Thrilled, and beautiful, and the most wonderful girlfriend he’d ever had, fake or not.

And he was supposed to break up with her in a week.

For the first time, James thought Dak’s plan might not be such a great idea after all.


	4. but the thought of you leaving ain't so easy for me

“You should tell her,” Kendall said.

“I can’t!” James said. “And keep your voice down, she could hear us.”

They were in James’ living room. Kendall, Logan, and Carlos were sprawled on the couch, while James paced in front of them, fiddling with his cufflinks. He and Camille had a fancy benefit dinner for the California Sad Parrot Foundation that night, and Camille had decided to dress at James’ so that they could go over in the same limo. She was in his bedroom now, changing into her gown and getting her hair and makeup done. James tried not to think about Camille getting undressed in his bedroom.

“Dude, this is stupid,” Carlos said, hanging upside down over the couch. “You like her, she likes you, why break up?”

“She _doesn’t_ like me. It’s called acting, genius,” James snapped.

Carlos looked hurt. At least, James thought he did – it was hard to tell when he was upside down. “Fine. Forget it.”

“I thought this was a bad idea the whole time,” Logan started.

“Oh, cram it, Mitchell, we know,” James spat.

“Well!” Logan said, offended.

“James, cut it out. We’re trying to help,” Kendall said.

James opened his mouth to fire back an insult, then sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…I really like her. And,” he said before anyone could interject, “it doesn’t matter if she likes me back. We had this plan for a reason. I break up with her the day after tomorrow, and we’re shoo-ins for those awards.”

“I don’t think that’s a great reason to break up,” Kendall said.

“Of course you don’t. You quit,” James said. “But it matters to _me_. And it matters to Camille. And if it means her getting that Oscar in seven years…I’m not gonna let her down, no matter how much I – ”

Logan suddenly coughed loudly and nodded at the bedroom door, which was opening. James plastered a smile on his face and turned around.

“Well,” Camille said, coming out of the bedroom, “how do I look?”

James’ mouth went dry. While Camille usually favored short dresses, she’d gone for something more formal tonight – an ankle-length gown in a deep burgundy. However, as she turned to show off the dress, they saw that the back plunged daringly low, ending just above her tailbone. Her dark curls were pinned up in intricate coils except for one, which trailed over her shoulder and drew the eye to all that bare, flawless skin.

James had no idea how such dresses were held up or what women did to make them work. Looking at Camille now, he didn’t particularly care.

“You look beautiful,” he said when he could speak.

Camille grinned and took his arm. “You don’t look half bad yourself, handsome,” she drawled. He gave her a sickly smile in return.

“Have fun, kids!” Kendall said as they headed for the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

James glared at him over his shoulder. As he turned back, he caught a glimpse of the way the satin of Camille’s dress shifted against her lower back as she walked. He bit back a groan. They had better have alcohol at this benefit thing.

As it turned out, they _did_ have alcohol – champagne, and plenty of it. It made up for the speeches, which were excruciatingly boring, and the food, which was bland and overcooked. After seeing Camille pick at her entrée with a look of dismay on her face, James gave her his roll.

“Thanks,” she whispered. They’d been seated at a table with a bunch of elderly society types who’d never heard of either of them. James could see other young Hollywood types scattered throughout the room, but none of them seemed to want to brave James and Camille’s dining companions in order to say hi.

“No problem,” he whispered back. “You don’t suppose they’d get us cheeseburgers if we asked for them, do you?”

“Probably not,” she said. “At least there’s plenty of booze.” She lifted her champagne glass, and he raised his in a toast. “To sad parrots. May they be happy parrots soon.”

“Hear, hear,” he agreed, and clinked his glass against hers. Camille met his glance as they lifted the glasses to their lips. He raised his eyebrows at her, she lowered hers, and they started chugging, racing to see who could finish their glass first.

Camille won. “Ha!” she said a little too loudly as she put her glass down, then burped. “Whoops. ‘Scuse me.”

James laughed so hard he snorted. “How many of those have you had?”

“Not as many as you,” she retorted, looking like she wanted to giggle. The society folks at their table looked appalled. “Ugh, this is the most boring thing I’ve ever attended. Dare you to run up on that stage and moon the room.”

“Dare _you_ ,” James said. A waiter passed by with a bottle of champagne, and James flagged him down. “Race you again?”

“You’re on.”

By the time the dinner was over, James was feeling no pain, and Camille looked to be in a similar state. They tumbled gracelessly into the limo, and James sprawled out on the seat, loosening his tie with a sigh of relief. “Thank God that’s over.”

“Where to first?” James’ driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

James looked at Camille. “Your place,” she said. “I left my bra there.”

Something about the matter-of-fact way she said it struck James as hilarious. He cracked up, which started Camille giggling too. Rolling his eyes, the driver rolled up the privacy shield.

Still snickering, Camille pulled herself across the seat and leaned against James, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m tired. Are you tired? I’m really tired.”

“Mm,” he said, leaning back. There was a good reason not to get too close to Camille if he didn’t have to, but right now he couldn’t think of it. All he knew was that she smelled really good, and her hair, brushing against his chin and neck, was really soft.

“What are you wearing to the thing?” Camille asked after a long, quiet moment. “You know, the…the thing. The day after tomorrow. Where we break up.”

James didn’t want to think about that. “Nnf. I dunno. Clothes.”

Camille started giggling again. “I hope so. Otherwise the headlines’ll be pretty different. Not that I don’t think you’d look good naked.” She glanced up at him, then away quickly. They lapsed into silence again.

James’ glance fell on the curl across Camille’s shoulder. He reached down and idly coiled it around his finger, then let it go.

Camille turned to look at him. There was something in her eyes, something questioning. He started to lean in – 

The limo pulled to a stop and the driver lowered the privacy screen. “You want me to wait here?”

Camille sat up. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that would be great.” She opened the door and climbed over James’ lap to let herself out.

James unlocked the apartment door and let her in. “Hello?” he called. Silence. “I think the guys were going to see a movie,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

He walked her to the door of his bedroom. “So you can just, you know, change in here, then, uh…head out.”

“Okay,” she said again.

She paused in the doorway, staring up at him. Then she grabbed him by the lapels, hauled him down, and kissed him.

James had kissed Camille many times by now for the benefit of the press, and it had always been nice. This was different. It wasn’t nice at all. It was hot and fierce and demanding, and he groaned into her mouth and tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her back like he’d been dying to do all night, all week, all _month_.

“ _James_ ,” she gasped when they came up for air. Between short, frantic kisses she pushed his jacket to the floor and yanked his shirt out of his pants. She started unbuttoning it as he slipped the strap of her dress from her shoulder and kissed the bare skin there.

“Camille,” he breathed as her hands skated over his chest. “Camille, I – ”

The front door opened. “James, you home? Carlos can’t find a parking space and I – whoa!”

James and Camille sprang apart. Kendall was standing in the hallway, staring at them. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No. No, it’s okay,” Camille said. Her voice was a little shaky. “I have to get going anyway.” She tugged her dress back up and slipped into the bedroom without looking at James.

Dully, James walked over to the couch and sat down. “You okay?” Kendall asked. James didn’t respond. His stomach was starting to twist with guilt. This wasn’t what Camille wanted. He _knew_ this wasn’t what Camille wanted, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought up their breakup in the limo. But he was drunk and so was she, and just for a minute he’d forgotten that it was all an act…

Camille reemerged in jeans and a t-shirt, her gown and garment bag bundled in her arms. Her hair was still in its updo, mussed by James’ fingers, and the sight of it made James’ chest ache anew.

“Well…good night,” she said, not quite meeting James’ eyes.

He stood up. “Camille, I…”

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” she said quickly, backing towards the door. “Bye!”

And then she was gone.

James sank back onto the couch, face in his hands. “Oh God, she hates me.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening here,” Kendall ventured.

“Did you see how fast she got out of here?” James asked, looking up at him. “And I don’t blame her. I took advantage of her!”

“Uh…it looked to me like she was undressing _you_ ,” Kendall said.

“Of course she was! Do you _see_ this pretty face?” James asked, gesturing to himself. “How could she resist?” He buried his face in a couch pillow. “I’m a monster!”

Kendall patted his shoulder gently. “Don’t say that. You’re not a monster. You’re just an idiot.”

James groaned and pulled another pillow over his head. He _was_ an idiot. How was he going to face Camille two days from now?

And how on Earth was he going to bring himself to break up with her?

*

Camille pulled into the parking lot of the Coffee Bean and took a deep breath. She could do this. She was an actress, after all. Faking it was her business.

Her hand drifted absently to her shoulder, where the memory of James’ lips still burned. She’d forgotten herself last night, dizzy on champagne and on James. She’d wanted him so desperately… It had been a blessing in disguise when Kendall interrupted them. If he hadn’t – if she’d actually slept with James – how much harder would this be?

She gave herself a rueful smile in the rearview mirror. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a difficult scene to play. After all, James had most of the lines. All Camille had to do was act heartbroken.

Act. Yeah, right.

For a moment she was tempted to text James and call the whole thing off. What did Dak know? Maybe they could still win without breaking up.

But, she reminded herself, James was faking it too. Sure, he’d seemed into it last night, but that just meant that they shared a physical attraction, nothing more. She’d known _that_ since she was sixteen.

No, he was in this for his career. And, she told herself firmly, so was she. Did she want that Oscar in seven years’ time or not?

“Remember the Oscar,” she muttered, and got out of the car. A few cameras went off as she did – the paparazzi knew to stake out this Coffee Bean, since James and Camille met here at the same time several days a week. Now it was paying off.

James was waiting inside the Coffee Bean, nursing a drink. He hastily got to his feet when he spotted her, paused briefly, and kissed her cheek. “Hi,” he said, and pointed to the other cup on the table. “I got you a strawberry frappe.”

Her favorite. Camille felt something twist inside of her. “Thanks,” she said.

James leaned in close. He looked sick, or maybe just exhausted, with dark half-moons beneath his eyes. “Listen, about the other night…”

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured quickly. She didn’t want to talk about it. Oh God, did she not want to talk about it. “Let’s just get this over with.”

James took a deep breath. “Right. Okay.”

They headed out the front door, where the paparazzi were waiting. There were a handful of tables in front of the coffee shop, and they took one, ignoring the cameras and the requests for smiles from the crowd.

Camille waited. James stared at his cup and didn’t say anything.

“…Did you want to talk about something, James?” Camille asked, trying to prompt him.

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” James said, but then he fell silent again.

Camille kicked him under the table. _Come on, James,_ she pleaded silently. _Don’t make this any harder than it has to be._

“James?” she tried again.

He finally looked up at her. “We don’t have to do this,” he murmured.

“Yes, we do,” she hissed.

“But the other night – ”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she snapped, a little too loud. James looked wounded, and there was a stir among the paparazzi, like sharks scenting blood on the water. “Just get it over with, okay?”

“I…” James faltered, and bit his lip. He gave her a helpless look.

Oh, no. She was going to have to do this, wasn’t she? She should have expected it. Hadn’t she always been the one who had to handle the hard questions around the press? “Spit it out, James,” she prompted. “We both know what you’re trying to say. It’s over.”

The onlookers gasped – paparazzi and ordinary coffee enthusiasts alike. James fumbled with his cup. “I don’t…”

“Come on,” Camille said, shooting him a pleading look, even as her voice turned hard and distant, like she was playing someone very cruel.

James just _looked_ at her with those big, sad eyes, and it made her want to cry. Instead she let the role take over – let that other, meaner Camille fill her until there was nothing of herself left to hurt.

“It was fun for a while, but we both knew it didn’t _really_ mean anything,” she went on. _Your turn, James,_ she thought, hoping he would show some backbone. A screaming match would make this part a lot easier to play.

Instead he took one of her hands in both of his. “Camille, please, let’s talk about this…” he said, sounding choked.

Camille jerked her hand away. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re pretty, we both got our jollies, now let’s _end_ this charade before we both wind up regretting it.”

“That’s all it was to you?” he demanded. “A charade?”

“Wasn’t it?” She grabbed her purse and stood up. “And now it’s done. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Game over.”

James stood up too, and Camille realized with horror that he was on the verge of tears. “But Camille, I – ”

“Stop!” she said before he could finish the sentence, before he could make her forget her resolve and fling herself into his arms. “Just stop it, okay? I don’t want to hear it.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. Goodbye, James.”

She turned on her heel and marched back into the Coffee Bean and out the back, ignoring the paparazzi following her as she got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot. They followed her all the way home, shouting at her as she walked up her driveway and through her front door. She kept her eyes front and her jaw set, ignoring the questions and the comments until she had closed the door behind her, locked it, and pulled the curtains tightly closed.

Then she burst into tears.


	5. it's gonna be a big big big big big big night

Someone was ringing the doorbell. Camille groaned and pushed herself up into a seated position. Her eyes felt puffy and raw, and she blinked, trying to clear them.

It wasn’t until she saw the crumpled dress on the floor next to a pile of used tissues that she remembered what had happened yesterday. _James._ Oh God, he must hate her now. She’d ruined everything.

Whoever was outside was still ringing, over and over. She groaned again and climbed out of bed. Staggering into the living room, she pressed the answer button on the intercom. “Who is it?”

“It’s Jo!” a familiar voice said.

“Jo! What do you think of James and Camille’s breakup?” an unfamiliar voice demanded.

“No comment,” Jo said quickly. “Camille, can you please let me in? It’s a little crowded down here.”

Camille didn’t particularly want to see anyone, but she buzzed Jo in. Then she went over to the window and peered through the curtains. Sure enough, there were a handful of cars parked illegally across from her apartment building, and paparazzi swarming the lawn. Well, great.

She pulled on her robe and splashed some water on her face while she waited for Jo to come up, then answered the door. “Hi.”

Jo gave her a sympathetic smile. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m great.” Camille walked back into the living room and flopped down on the couch. “How would you be?”

“Needing my best friend,” Jo said. She put the bags she’d been carrying down on the coffee table and started unloading them. “I brought Danishes for breakfast from that place that makes the really good bear claws, and ice cream for later, and movies both stupid and sad, depending on what you’re in the mood for.” She picked up the ice cream. “Lemme go put this in the freezer.”

“I watched _A Star Is Born_ last night,” Camille admitted. “Twice.”

“Did it make you feel any better?” Jo asked. She was already brewing a pot of coffee. She had always had a tendency to take charge of situations, especially when Camille was falling apart.

“No,” Camille admitted. 

Jo came back into the living room. “It’s a good thing I brought _The Unicorn Princess_ , then.” She sat down on the couch.

“How bad is it?” Camille asked.

“You shouldn’t be worrying about that right now,” Jo said, but she didn’t quite meet Camille’s eyes.

“Jo.”

Jo sighed. “It’s bad. The blogosphere is basically calling you a huge bitch who stomped on James’ heart. Deke was particularly nasty, I think he has a crush on James or something. There’s a bunch of paparazzi outside your apartment, and when I got here Kimiyo was threatening to blow up the door if you didn’t wake up and let her in. I got her to leave by promising to make you call her later today.”

“I turned off my phone,” Camille said. “What about James?”

Jo rolled her eyes. The coffee maker beeped, and she walked back into the kitchen. “Oy. Apparently he actually cried. On camera. Then he went home and hasn’t been seen since either. I texted Kendall, but haven’t heard back yet.” She added sugar to Camille’s coffee and milk to both. “Everyone’s calling him a wimp and a crybaby. James, I mean, not Kendall.” She placed the mugs on the coffee table and sat down again. “On the plus side, you’re like four of the trending topics on ScuttleButter.”

Camille groaned yet again. “Why couldn’t he have just broken up with me like he was supposed to?” she asked. “None of this would have happened! The media would still love me, and everything would be fine!”

“Is that really why you’re upset?” Jo asked.

Camille felt the tears starting again. “No.”

Jo pulled her into a hug and Camille lost it, sobbing into her shoulder. “Shh,” Jo said, rubbing Camille’s back like she was a very small child. “Shh. It’ll be okay. I promise, it’s going to be okay.”

But Camille didn’t see how.

*

“Get up.”

It was Katie, and she sounded furious. “NNNNNNN,” James moaned into his pillow, and refused to open his eyes.

Something hit his back. It felt like a shoe. “Get _up_ ,” Katie said again.

“Katie!” That was Kendall. “Come on, Katie, leave him alone. He had a bad day yesterday.”

“He’ll have a worse one today if he doesn’t get out of that bed and fix his career! Now get up before I throw my other shoe at you, James!” There was a shriek. “Dammit, Kendall, put me down!”

James pulled his pillow over his head, but the noise grew louder. “No, I’m not going to let you in there, this is all your fault!” Logan shouted.

“Well, I can’t help him if I can’t talk to him!” That was Dak. What was Dak doing in his apartment?

“Your kind of help he can do without, Mr. Lie-to-the-World!”

“I thought his name was Mr. Zevon?” Carlos. Of course.

“Katie! Ow! Mom said no hitting!”

“Mom’s two thousand miles away! Put me _down!_ ”

“ _Enough!_ ” James roared, sitting up. He glared at the people crowded around his bed. Everyone but Katie had the grace to look sheepish. Well, maybe Katie was sheepish too, but it was hard to tell with her hanging over Kendall’s shoulder like that. “What are you all doing in here?”

“Trying to save your career!” Katie said, and kicked Kendall in the stomach. He groaned and quickly put her down, then sat on the foot of James’ bed, wheezing. “If we don’t jump on this quickly, you’ll be James Cry-mond forever.”

“She’s right,” Dak said. “You need to start shaping the media narrative, and fast.”

“No, what he _needs_ is some therapeutic time on the ice with his best buddies,” Kendall said, and James realized his friends were all wearing their jerseys.

“That’s right,” Logan told Dak. “Where he can _be himself_.” Dak stuck his tongue out at Logan.

Kendall gave James’ thigh a friendly whack through the blanket. “Come on, James, I got the rink reserved and everything.”

“James. You need to fix this,” Katie said.

James gave her his most plaintive look. “Can I fix it by staying in bed and moping?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Okay. What do I have to do?”

“James,” Kendall said. “You don’t have to think about this right now, buddy.”

“Yeah, come play hockey with us and forget about how Camille probably hates you now!” Carlos said. Logan hit him. “I mean, how your career’s in a shambles!”

Logan hit him again. “Stop helping.”

“Thanks, but Katie and Dak are right. I need to do this,” James said. “So what’s the plan?”

The plan, it turned out, was for James to be seen with another starlet as soon as possible. “You can’t look brokenhearted,” Dak said. “You can still earn that bad boy cred if you’re seen playing the field.”

“And we can’t wait for a red carpet event, so you’ve got yourself a lunch date,” Katie added, handing him his lucky comb. “Now go get your Face on.”

An hour later, James was sitting at an outdoor table in a very chi-chi café with Kat from Kat’s Crew, tearing a roll into tiny pieces and pretending not to notice the paparazzi snapping shots from across the street. It was a little weird to him to be on a date with Kat, who he still thought of as that 14-year-old kid who’d gone toe-to-toe with Big Time Rush, but he reminded himself that she was 19 now, and besides, this was only _fake_ dating. Katie had filled Kat in on what had really happened with Camille, and Kat was happy to do a favor for an old friend and label-mate.

“So…are you looking forward to the Teen Choice Awards?” Kat asked, trying gamely to fill the silence.

The Teen Choice Awards. This had all been to win that _stupid_ award. “I guess,” James said, slumped dejectedly in his seat. “Camille’ll be there. So that’ll be…something.”

Kat coughed delicately. “Right. Uh…do you not like your roll?”

James stared at the crumbs he’d made. “Camille liked rolls.”

“Maybe you’d feel better if you talked about something besides Camille,” Kat suggested.

“Like what?” James asked.

Kat shrugged. “I don’t know. Music?”

James felt his expression crumple. “Camille liked music!” he wailed.

Kat’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, whoa. Calm down.” She put her hands on top of his. “James. Honey. I say this as a friend. I know what Katie and Dak were trying to do here, and it’s not a bad idea, but I don’t think you’re ready to date. Or…fake date. Whatever.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you go home and have some ice cream and a good cry?”

James sniffled. “I can’t eat ice cream. It’s bad for my figure.”

“Lowfat sorbet, then.” Kat tugged James to his feet and kissed his cheek. “Go on home, James.”

James gave her a wan smile and left, trying to keep his posture as jaunty as possible for the benefit of the paparazzi and their telephoto lenses. He had a feeling he wasn’t doing a very convincing job of it.

He picked up his car from the valet and drove home, stopping off to pick up the suggested sorbet. Maybe Kat was right. Maybe a couple of days of moping at home was what he needed. Maybe then he’d forget about his broken heart and ruined life. That was how these things worked, right?

He parked his car, ignoring the paparazzi staking out his apartment complex, and picked up the mail. His own tearful face looked up at him from the cover of _Persons_. Sighing, he tucked the mail under his arm, trudged up to his apartment, let himself in, and stopped short.

Logan and Dak were making out on his couch.

“Yipe!” Logan said when he saw James, and shoved Dak off the couch.

“Hey!” Dak protested, rubbing his hindquarters. “Why’d you – oh. Uh, hi, James.”

James stared at them.

“…James?” Logan asked.

“Everyone has love but me!” James wailed. He stormed into his bedroom, plopped down on his bed, and opened his sorbet. “And I don’t have a spoon!”

He heard frantic whispers from the living room, and then the front door closing. Logan poked his head into James’ room. “Hi.”

James stared at his melting sorbet.

“I don’t…that wasn’t…we were just. Y’know. I wanted to make sure you were okay, and Dak and I started arguing, and everyone left, and. Uh. Y’know. I don’t _like_ him or anything, he just…we just…it just…y’know. Bleep blap bloop.”

“Logan, I think I want to be alone right now,” James said.

“Right. Got it. On my way. Call if you need anything.”

James heard Logan leave the room. He sighed heavily. “Logan, wait.”

“Yeah?”

“…Could you get me a spoon?”

*

Camille really, _really_ hadn’t wanted to go to the Teen Choice Awards. First of all, there was no way in hell she was winning now, so she’d prefer to avoid _that_ particular humiliation. Second, everyone still hated her, and she really didn’t want to walk a red carpet of hostile reporters.

And third, James was sure to be there, and that was worst of all. Camille wasn’t nearly ready to face him.

But – as Kimiyo had reminded her very frequently over the past week – she had a job to do, and that meant showing her face at these sorts of events. “After all,” Kimiyo pointed out, “you have to get back out there eventually.”

The limo pulled up in front of the theater, and Camille took a deep breath. This was it. She could do this. She just had to look cheerful but subdued, and refuse to answer any questions about James.

She stepped out of the limo. Immediately the cameras started flashing. “Camille!” “Camille, over here!” “Camille, who are you wearing?”

She smiled demurely and turned to show off her dress. It had been chosen when she was still planning on playing the role of America’s heartbroken sweetheart, and it worked well enough for the role of “please stop thinking of me as a heartless bitch,” too – off-white and girlish, with an empire waist and eyelet lace trim. She wore her hair loose and minimal makeup to complete the effect.

“Camille! Are you excited?” a reporter asked, thrusting a microphone into her face.

“I’m just glad to be here,” she said. “There’s so many talented people here and so many great acts lined up…it’s going to be an awesome night.”

“More or less awesome than the time you totally shattered James Diamond’s heart in public?” the reporter asked.

Camille blinked. “Uh…”

“How do you respond to allegations that you’re the worst person in the entire world?” the reporter went on. “I hear there are now over 200 ‘I hate Camille’ websites in existence. Thoughts?”

“I, uh…I…that is…um…” Camille stammered. “You know what, I think they’re starting. Inside. I should…I’ve gotta…I’ll…”

She ducked away and hurried towards the door. In her haste, she accidentally bumped into someone tall standing just inside the entrance.

“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t see – ”

“Camille?”

It was James. Of _course_ it was James.

“I…how are you?” she asked. He looked awful. Well, no – he looked ludicrously handsome, as usual, but haggard, like he hadn’t been getting enough sleep. And the hollow, apprehensive way he looked at her made her want to fling herself into his arms and beg forgiveness. After all, it hadn’t been just her career she’d screwed up.

“I’m…I’m all right,” he said. “You look beautiful.”

No compliment had ever made her feel worse. She was trying to think of how to respond when Kendall grabbed James’ arm. “Come on, they want us to start sitting down – oh. Hi, Camille.”

He didn’t seem angry at her, which was strange. Usually Kendall was fiercely protective of his friends. “Hi. Are you here for Big Time Rush…?”

“As a producer, actually. They invited me instead of Gustavo. I think they figured I’d break fewer things.” He jerked his thumb towards the auditorium. “Logan and Carlos are here too. They’re our plus ones.”

She nodded, then forced herself to look back up at James. He was still giving her this strange, mournful look. She made herself smile. “Well…good luck, tonight, James. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You…you too.”

Camille nodded, tightlipped, then hurried past the boys to the auditorium. Oh God, how was she going to make it through the night?

Camille had been watching the Teen Choice Awards since the first one had aired in 1999, but this felt like the longest one ever. The opening act was long. Dak’s opening spiel as host was long. The announcement of each guest and the presentation of each award was long.

And through it all, she had to keep a straight back and a smile on her face. One of the cameramen was parked in the aisle right by her, and she knew very well the cameras were cutting to her and James frequently.

Finally, after countless picayune awards and excruciating musical performances, her award came up. Camille arranged her facial expression into something approaching neutral as Taylor Swift and one of the Jonas Brothers – she’d met them several times and _still_ couldn’t tell them apart – took the stage.

“You know, Taylor,” the Jonas said, “I don’t understand this award. Isn’t a breakout something teens _don’t_ want?”

Taylor laughed politely and Camille tried not to roll her eyes. Whoever had written the teleprompter jokes this year was awful.

After a little more awkward banter, the Jonas read off the nominees. Camille’s heart started to race.

“And the winner is…”

Camille prayed silently. She knew she didn’t have much of a chance, but maybe…maybe…

Taylor opened the envelope. “…Mandy Michaels!”

Amidst the sea of applause, Camille smiled and clapped politely. _Cry later,_ she told herself firmly. Right now, she had to look happy for Mandy. Even if meant she would never get that Oscar.

Mandy stood up and headed for the stage. Suddenly, there was a scuffle from somewhere behind Camille. She turned to see James pushing his way to the aisle. Her brow furrowed. Where was he going?

James raced down the aisle and up the stairs onto the stage, much to the obvious surprise of Taylor and the Jonas. “Excuse me,” he said, gently pushing Taylor away from the microphone. “I need this. Sorry. Love your dress.”

Then he turned to the audience. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt.” He looked at Mandy, frozen uncertainly on the stairs. “Sorry, Mandy. I didn’t see your movie, but I’m sure you were great and stuff.”

He looked back out at the audience. “But Camille deserves this award,” he said, and Camille’s heart leapt into her throat.

The crowd was buzzing now, astonished. James kept going. “This award is supposed to go to the person you think is going to be a huge star someday, and that’s gonna be Camille. I’ve known that for years. She’s so talented, and so dedicated, and she deserves this award, and in a few years when she’s the most famous actress in the world, you’re gonna feel _stupid_ that you didn’t give this to her.”

Camille stared at him, hands clenched so tightly that her fingernails bit into her palms. She knew the camera was on her, but she didn’t care. What was James _doing?_

“Well, uh, thank you for that editorial,” the Jonas said, smiling uncomfortably, and tried to gently tug James away from the mic. James pushed him, and he stumbled back.

“I’m not finished! Look, I know everyone’s mad at Camille right now for breaking up with me, but you shouldn’t be, okay? Because there’s a lot you don’t know about our relationship and…and it was my fault.” James searched the audience until his gaze fell upon Camille. “I broke a promise to her, and I let her down, and she was right to break up with me. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I screwed it up. Not Camille.”

A couple of burly security guards in yellow jackets walked onto the stage. One of them murmured something to James.

“No!” he said, hands tightening on the microphone. “Not until they give that surfboard to Camille!”

“Okay, time to go, pretty boy,” the other guard said, loud enough to be picked up by the mic. Both guards grabbed James and tried to haul him offstage.

“No!” James yelled again. Despite the guards having at least 100 pounds on him each, he managed to wiggle free. One of the guards made another grab for him and James punched him in the face. The guard dropped like a rock, and a gasp went up from the crowd.

James lunged for the microphone. “Camille deserves that award!” he yelled. Two more security guards ran onstage. “Camille – ” James got out before the three conscious guards dragged him offstage.

The show dissolved into confusion. Mandy Michaels ran onto the stage and tried to grab her surfboard from Taylor Swift, knocking over the Jonas in the process. Guards ran into the aisles to keep the rest of Big Time Rush from charging the stage. Over the noise of the crowd, someone was shouting, “Go to commercial! Go to _commercial!_ ”

In the midst of it all, a PA came trotting up to Camille. “Camille? You’re up.”

Camille stared blankly at her.

“You’re presenting the Choice Male Hottie award. Remember?”

Oh, right. Not trusting herself to speak, Camille got up and followed the PA backstage. Her head was spinning. James had just stormed the stage, made a speech and gotten into a _fight_ …for her.

She knew James was a good guy. And if he’d broken up with her like they’d planned, everyone wouldn’t hate her and she probably would’ve won the award. So it wasn’t surprising that he felt bad and wanted to apologize.

But he’d said she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

For the past week she’d been asking herself why James hadn’t just broken up with her like he was supposed to. Now she thought she knew.

The PA led her to the right wing of the stage, where Jett Stetson was waiting to present the award with her. He raised his eyebrows as she approached. “You sure know how to pick ‘em,” he said, and jerked his thumb towards the left backstage wing. James was standing there, arms held firmly behind his back by two nervous-looking guards. His eyes widened when he saw her.

“Why are they keeping him there?” Camille asked. She’d have thought they’d want to either throw James out, turn him over to the cops, or put him back in his seat – not keep him close to the action.

“We’re just letting him stay until we see if he wins this award,” the PA said. “Then he’s out of here.”

Right. Camille had been chosen to present the Choice Male Hottie award when James was the frontrunner, for optimum cutesiness. After the breakup, she’d stopped thinking of him as a contender, but she supposed the awards people had to keep him around, just in case.

Dak walked over to them, a stylist still fiddling with his hair. “Hey guys,” he said, fistbumping Jett, who he was friends with for some odd reason. “Quite a night, isn’t it? When I agreed to host, I didn’t expect it to be this exciting.” He winked at Camille. “Your boy certainly knows how to make a statement. I always knew you two crazy kids would make it.”

“That’s not funny,” Camille said, stung.

He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t joking.” Suddenly he tapped his earpiece. “That’s my cue. See you in a minute.”

“I don’t know why we’re even bothering reading the names,” Jett said as Dak trotted onto the stage and launched into his spiel. “They should just go ahead and give me the award.”

Camille gave him a look. “You’re not nominated.”

“See, that’s another problem,” Jett said, but before he could continue, Dak called their names, and the PA gave them a gentle push towards the stage.

As the audience applauded, Camille and Jett approached the podium. Jett got to the mic first. “Well, tonight’s been an interesting night for you, hasn’t it?”

Camille forced a smile and stomped on his foot behind the podium, where the cameras couldn’t see. “Ha ha. Oh, Jett. _Stop._ ” She turned to the teleprompter. “The Choice Male Hottie award goes to the gentleman you’ve decided is the finest of the fine.” The finest of the fine? Who wrote this garbage? “I don’t know about you, but this is my favorite award of the night. Am I right, ladies?”

The teens in the pit in front of the stage screamed. Jett chuckled. “Girls, please, I know you’re excited I’m here, but let’s announce the nominees, okay?” Camille tried not to roll her eyes.

Jett read out the names as the screens behind them showed clips of each of the guys and the audience shrieked with excitement: “Dak Zevon…Taylor Lautner…Skippy Hickenlooper…Leon Thomas…and James Diamond.”

The screams at James’ name were deafening. Camille glanced at the screen behind her, which showed James in his “Girl Time” video, dancing shirtless in the rain. James had insisted that it was very artistic.

She took a deep breath and reached for the oversized toy convertible on the podium. “And the winner is…” She flipped back the top and pulled out the card with the answer. “James Diamond. _Holy crap._ ”

Jett snatched the card out of her hands. “That crybaby? No way!” He was drowned out, though, by the tremendous noise from the audience – screams from the teenage fans in the front, confused but enthusiastic applause from the celebrities.

Heart pounding, Camille turned towards the wing of the stage. The guards holding James glanced at each other, then shrugged and let him go.

James looked absolutely shellshocked. He walked slowly onto the stage, and the audience screamed even louder, but he wasn’t looking at them, or the podium, or anything but Camille.

No one but James had ever looked at her like that. How could she have thought it was all an act? James was a _terrible_ actor.

“Camille,” he said when he reached her. “I…”

She kissed him.

Distantly she was aware that the crowd was cheering again, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the fact that James wasn’t kissing her back.

She pulled back far enough to look at him. “James?”

“Is this…why did…do you want to fake date me again?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I want to real date you”

James gave her the most radiant smile she’d ever seen, and _now_ he kissed her back, sweeping her into his arms so enthusiastically her feet left the ground. She couldn’t help her delighted laugh. That was her James.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Congratulations, you two,” Dak said loudly. “Come on, lovebirds, let’s let someone else win an award, okay?” James put Camille down and they let Dak usher them offstage, Jett following behind and grumbling about having to carry the surfboard.

Once offstage, Dak gave them a big thumbs up. “Very nice. That punch was inspired, James – way to get the bad boy cred back. And the kiss? Very dramatic.”

Camille frowned. “We weren’t trying to be dramatic – ”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I hoped you two would end up together. But a little extra drama never hurts, right?”

Camille had to admit he had a point.

“I gotta get back out there. See you two at the after party!” Dak ran back out onto the stage.

Camille noticed a couple of security guards making their way over and quickly pulled James out of the backstage area proper and into the hallway, which was much quieter and less crowded. “We probably should go to the after party,” she said, though all she really wanted to do was stand there and just _look_ at James for at least a year.

James nodded reluctantly. “There’ll be paparazzi outside. It’d be good to be seen together right away.” He paused. “And I should probably apologize to Mandy Michaels.”

Camille nodded as well. “Dak would say we should go. And Kimiyo.”

“And Katie and Gustavo.”

They looked at each other.

“Orrrr we could go back to my place while everyone’s still watching the show and no one’s paying attention to us,” Camille suggested, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

James grinned and pulled her close. “That wouldn’t be very good for our careers.”

She smiled dreamily up at him. “Who cares?”

He leaned in to kiss her, then pulled back. “Well, actually, I do,” he admitted.

She nodded. “Yeah, me too.” Then she smiled again and grabbed his tie, pulling him towards the exit. “But just this once, I think it’s okay.”

 

**Epilogue**

Seven years later, Camille won an Oscar.


End file.
